Undercover Fresher: Undercover at The Lizard

The other day I was in a tutorial with a friend discussing the fine dancing establishment that is fondly known as The Lizard. As soon as the words, “I love The Lizard”, came out of my mouth, there was a very loud and noticeable snort from the third year sitting behind me.  

Now while I am aware that many upperclassmen avoid The Lizard like I avoid looking at my bank balance, I cannot fathom why. The Lizard, in my opinion, is at the top of the list for a perfect Friday night in St Andrews.

Ian the Tranny DJ is my personal hero. I would go to The Lizard just to sway my booty to his top-notch DJ skillz. I seriously considered applying to be his personal bitch (I mean, his assistant) when The Lizard was hiring, but I decided that I just couldn’t be around that much awesome at one time.  

A lot of things happen at The Lizard. It is a place where, to put it lightly, all pride and semblance of class goes to die a sweet sticky death.  

It’s the place where you pull a complete rando (whomever it was last week that got me sick: I hate you. Go die.), and where you shamelessly flirt with locals to buy you a shot. It’s a place where you should avoid being adopted by your first academic father (not speaking from experience or anything), and where you hope to Sweet Baby Jesus that you don’t run into that cute boy from halls that you fancy.

The Lizard is the kind of establishment that is a drunken dream and a sober nightmare – if you aren’t completely wasted, don’t even both entering the premises. You’ll be doing yourself emotional and psychological damage that can only be undone with years of intensive therapy.

That said, many a good thing has happened to me at The Lizard. I found 10 quid on the dance floor once. Wait, that is the only good thing that has happened to me there. The rest has been drunken booty-shaking (now famous amongst the boys of my hall) and shameful Wednesday nights with my sports team.   

I understand why some upperclassmen prefer the comparatively posh atmosphere (come on, next to The Lizard, a dumpster is posh) of the Union, but it is still my – and most of my fresher friends, for that matter – favourite pit stop on a Friday night. Or a Monday night, or a Wednesday…